


Twenty-Four Hours

by LeftHandedPastryChef



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-09-16 19:56:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16960518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeftHandedPastryChef/pseuds/LeftHandedPastryChef
Summary: [Spoilers for S13 up to E18]A more in depth look at what happened in the twenty-four hours that passed while Dean Winchester and Arthur Ketch were on the other side of the rift.Sam has known torture, and he's been brought back from the insanity of it by the ones he loves. Now it's his turn to rescue someone from that awful place, and if that happens to be a terror-stricken, graceless archangel, then so be it.





	Twenty-Four Hours

**Author's Note:**

> Hello <3 It's been far too long, but I've finally gotten the courage to catch up on Supernatural. (My heart seriously needed a break from all the pain)
> 
> Gabriel brought me back to Supernatural, so I wanted to make his "homecoming" a little more... appreciated. So here's the good parts of episode eighteen, through the lens of a rusty pair of Sabriel glasses.
> 
> (Also quick note to anyone who knows my story TLR: Half a Mile an Hour! I have decided to reboot the story as an original, and I hope that when I finish it, some of you will give it a read. I'll update with more info a bit later.)

Sam watched with worried eyes as Ketch followed his brother through the rift in a flash of orange light. As much as he wanted to chase after them, or at least sink down into his familiar chair and close his eyes for a few precious moments, he had work to do. So he swallowed back his worry and turned to Gabriel, still wide-eyed and fearful. 

“Let’s get the last of those stitches out,” Sam sighed, picking up his tools and sitting across from the trembling archangel. As gently as possible, he raised Gabriel’s chin with one hand and snipped at the jagged wire. Ignoring Gabriel’s whimpers, he snipped twice more, and tried not to cringe as he tugged the stitch free. It seemed that his healing powers were drained with his grace, and as Sam gently dabbed at the blood with a napkin, he wondered if Gabriel was still an angel at all. 

“I’ll get you set up in a spare room,” Sam said, rising when he was done. “Some sleep might do you good.” He waited a few seconds for a response, but all he got was a vacant stare and a slight shiver.

\--

As Sam closed the door to Gabriel’s temporary room, he found himself remembering the torture he’d suffered at Lucifer’s hand. For so long, all he had known was pain. The way Gabriel flinched at every movement, tensed at every sound; it was all so familiar, and Sam hated it. He’d had Dean to put him back together, piece by piece, but who could help an archangel?

He pulled open the fridge to get a beer, and flurry of wings and trench coat made him turn. “Cas. Hey man.”

“Something is… Someone is here,” Castiel observed, head tilted slightly.

“Yeah, so-” Sam sighed, twisting the top off with his palm. “We got the seal of Solomon,” he started.

“Where is it?” Castiel looked around the kitchen for a moment. “Where is Dean?”

Sam pushed his hair back and took a long drink of his beer. “Slow down, dude. It’s been a day.”

“My apologies, Sam. You do look tired.”

Tired felt like an outrageous understatement, but Sam let it slide. He set his beer down and started to pull together the ingredients for a sandwich. “We got the seal and came back to the bunker. Turns out Ketch broke in again,”

“Arthur Ketch?” Castiel asked. Sam gave him a look, and he shut his mouth. 

“Yeah. Apparently he was working for Asmodeus and decided to turn tail. But not before grabbing the Prince’s ‘prize milk cow’, as he put it.” Remembering Gabriel’s affinity for sweets, Sam decided that peanut butter with copious amounts of jelly was probably a safer bet than ham and cheese. There didn’t seem to be a gentler way to break the news that his brother was alive, so Sam simply said, “Gabriel,” and let Castiel process for a moment.

“That’s who I felt. He’s weak. Nearly as much as a human.” Sam glowered at Cas, who had the good graces to look apologetic. “That’s not what I meant, Sam.”

“It’s fine. I’m just beat.” Sam finished layering the jelly onto both sides of the bread, set the sandwich on a metal tray. After a moment’s consideration, he pulled the vial of Gabriel’s remaining grace out of his pocket and set it next to the sandwich, then clapped a lid on the tray and set off down the hall. 

“Where is Dean, then?” Castiel asked, following Sam. 

Sam stopped for a moment, glancing toward the room the held the glowing rift. Castiel walked ahead of him, then paused when he noticed Sam wasn’t following. Trying not to sound bitter, Sam answered. “Apocalypse world.” 

“Dean is in apocalypse world alone?”

“No, he’s with Ketch, so he’s not alone.” It sounded as absurd out loud as it did in his head, but it was the truth of the matter. 

Castiel put up his hands in a very Dean-like gesture. “Oh, because that makes it so much better?”

Sam huffed, lengthening his strides to move past the angel. “Cas, he wanted to go solo-”

“And you let him?” Cas interrupted.

Sighing, Sam rounded on his friend. “He didn’t give me much of a choice.” Then he found himself saying, “Anyway, Dean’s right. As long as he’s over there, and we’re here, we need to be taking care of Gabriel.” He gestured to the door they were now standing beside. “Getting him right again.” 

The two of them exchanged an unspoken and reluctant agreement, then Sam pushed the door open and they entered the room.

“Gabriel?” Sam spoke softly into the darkness. He reached for the light switch, but Cas flipped it on for him. 

Gabriel was tucked into a ball, pressed against the corner made by the wall and the dresser. His filthy feet and matted hair were all that were visible aside from tattered rags he wore. “You didn’t tell me it was this bad,” Castiel said quietly, looking at his brother with pain in his eyes.

“Yeah, well, years of isolation and torture… and Asmodeus draining his grace…” He tried to hold up a tough front, but seeing such a lively and confident archangel turned into this trembling creature... Sam set his jaw. “Come here and help me out.”

It took some gentle coaxing to get Gabriel off of the floor and onto the bed, where he quickly tucked his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms protectively around them. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” Sam murmured, trying to comfort him. When he calmed some, Sam knelt on the floor before him and tried to meet his eyes. “Gabriel, it’s Sam Winchester. Do you remember me?”

Gabriel refused to look at him. “I don’t think he does,” Cas supplied, unhelpfully. 

“Remember the video you sent to my brother, Dean Winchester, and me after you… supposedly died?” Sam’s eyes scanned over Gabriel’s battered face for any glimpse of recognition. The long cut across his nose had begun to heal a bit, and the holes in his lips were no longer bleeding, but the small amount of repair seemed to only be physical. “You told us how to stuff Lucifer back in the cage,” he continued, smiling at the memory of the ridiculous video. 

“Sam, he doesn’t-”

“I know he doesn’t,” Sam cut him off, sighing. “I’m just… trying to see if anything’s going on in his head.” He stood back up and glanced at Cas, seeing nothing but pity in his eyes. “All right, well…” Sam reached for the tray, removing the lid and carefully lifting the glowing vial. “Gabriel’s grace.” It was incredible to think that Gabriel’s very essence was contained in such a tiny bottle. What was left of it, anyway. 

Returning Gabriel’s grace turned out to be far more difficult than Sam had expected. At first he’d just resisted, groaning and pushing away, but when Castiel had become more forceful in his efforts, Gabriel had shouted in terror and flung himself away, off the bed and into the corner of the room. Unable to stand the sound of Gabriel’s whimpers, Sam put a hand on Castiel’s shoulder and held him back. “Let’s…” Sam stepped back and capped the vial, slipping in into his pocket. “Let’s let him rest,” he said. He left the sandwich on the dresser, gave Gabriel one last apologetic look, and ushered Cas out of the room. 

\--

Gabriel had lost a lot of things since he’d been sold off to Asmodeus and turned into a supernatural juice box. He’d lost his grace, of course, but that was only the start of it. Day by day he’d lost his cocky attitude, his confidence, and the stubborn spark that made him who he was. He’d lost his tolerance to pain, his archangel healing, and after several years of torture, he’d lost hope of ever seeing the light of day. Eventually, he’d even lost his sense of time.

Gabriel had no idea how much time had passed since he’d been dragged out of Asmodeus’ lair by a stubborn, bloodied human. One minute he’d been struggling against the man’s hold, and then he was seated at a table, and somebody wanted his grace. He might have screamed; he couldn’t recall. Days later, or maybe just minutes, a gentle hand was on his chin. It was the first touch that hadn’t left behind searing pain in so long. Then the pain returned- a persistent tugging at his sewn-shut lips. The pain stopped, there were voices, and then there was silence. 

Then a soothing voice, tickling at the edges of his mind. “Gabriel, do you remember?” the voice said, echoing in his mind. He didn’t want to remember. Remembering meant pain, and all he wanted was for the pain to end. Blue light. Grace. Terror. Silence.

Much later, Gabriel cracked his eyes open. From the corner he had tucked himself into, he could see a figure sitting on the bed. There was that soothing voice again, and he tried to understand what it was saying, but he couldn't follow the words. Instead he just listened to the sound of it, deep and soft and rambling. It was nothing like the sharp, angry twang of his captor’s voice. It was like a happy memory, drifting through his mind and chasing away the remnants of terror. 

“I hated you,” the voice said. “I really did.” Gabriel blinked a few times, studying the figure’s hunched posture, trying to figure out what was so familiar about it. “Then I went through some things… and now I think I understand where you were coming from. You may not have gone about it the right way, but the message you were trying to get across... I get that.”

The voice droned on and Gabriel relaxed into the stone wall, letting his thoughts drift away to something like sleep. Only this time, instead of a demon in a white suit waiting for him in his dreams, there was sweet relief of nothing at all.

\--

Sam checked in on Gabriel every hour or so. Sometimes he cracked the door open just enough to make sure the archangel was still there, then shut it and left. Twice he slipped into the room at sat on the bed, talking softly about this or that, hoping that his words might jog a memory, or at least provide some amount of comfort. It was something that had soothed him when he was recovering; the familiar and calm voices of people he loved. Of course, Gabriel didn’t love him, but a familiar voice was better than none at all. 

Eight hours had passed since Sam and Castiel had tried, unsuccessfully, to restore Gabriel’s grace. In another fifteen minutes, Sam planned to check on Gabriel again and see if he could at least get some water between those parched, bloodied lips. Fifteen minutes to rest his eyes, Sam told himself, and he would go check on Gabriel.

“Sam?” Castiel shouted, voice carrying down the hall. Sam jerked awake in his chair, halfway to standing before his eyes were all the way open. It took a few seconds for his brain to come back online, but then he was jogging down the hall, towards Gabriel’s room. When he stopped in the doorway, he gaped at what he saw. 

“Enochian?” 

Black symbols covered every inch of the wall, varying in shape and size. Sam had the sickening thought that the writing was painted on with dried blood, but then he saw an open drawer, nearly a dozen empty bottles of ink, and a discarded brush on the floor. “It’s his story,” Castiel explained, eyes scanning the wall. Gabriel sat in his corner, vacant stare and no expression, as if he’d never budged. 

Castiel read through the story, which told of Gabriel’s faked demise and following trip to Monte Carlo. There was a bit about porn stars which, while ridiculous, made Sam’s heart swell with hope that the Gabriel he knew was still in there. It went on for a bit, until he was captured and sold; tortured and used. Even as Castiel narrated the past eight years of his life, Gabriel didn’t show any sign of hearing.

“So why isn’t he talking to us?” Sam finally asked. Clearly his mind was still working if he’d written all of this out, and his memories were still there as far back as Elysian.

“I don’t know. Maybe he can’t?” Castiel suggested. 

\--

“Gabriel, I’m going to move you,” the gentle voice said, waking him from his dreamlike state. There were cool, strong hands under his arms, and this time Gabriel didn’t feel the need to struggle. “Almost there,” he was assured. Once he was seated on the bed, he looked around. There was enochian all over the walls in black ink, and a familiar face hovering in front of him. “Castiel is going to try to heal you.”

Then the hand of an angel, Castiel, pressed gently against his forehead, and a humming noise swam through his thoughts. It sounded like heaven, and for a moment Gabriel felt calm. Then the low humming became the high pitched ringing of his nightmares, where Asmodeus sucked his grace out through a syringe and left Gabriel empty and weak. Fear clouded his mind and he slammed down every mental wall he had, shutting out the world and its endless pain. 

Gabriel was left alone. The ringing subsided and the terror loosened its grip on his insides. At some point a glass of water was pressed to his lips, but he didn’t remember how to drink. A gentle hand tipped his chin up and the water dripped over his lips. “Please, Gabriel?” the nice voice asked, and Gabriel managed to open his mouth just enough to take a few sips. He hadn’t had anything to drink in years, and the wonder of it was almost overwhelming.

Whether it had been minutes or hours, Gabriel didn’t know, but when he opened his eyes again, the room was clearer than it had been the past few times. He licked his lips and studied the walls, painted with the story of all that had happened to him since he’d stood up to his brother and lost. 

Soft snoring pulled his attention to a desk, where a familiar form was slumped over in a chair, fingers loosely settled around an empty glass of water. Everything about the man was so familiar, from his soft brown hair to the plaid shirt and stubbled jaw. Even the worry lines on his forehead seemed like something Gabriel had seen before. After a while he woke, and Gabriel looked away, afraid to see a pair of cold yellow eyes looking back at him.

They sat in silence for four hundred and twenty two breaths, which Gabriel counted in hopes that he would begin to regain his sense of time. Then his caretaker let out a deep sigh, stood, and turned for the door. Gabriel rocked forward a bit, trying to coax a word from his throat, but nothing happened. Instead of leaving, though, the tall man paused at the door. 

“Gabriel,” he pleaded, “you have to dig yourself out of this hole.” Despite the lack of response, he went on. His voice rose and fell, stronger and demanding, the urgency in his words reminding Gabriel of a man he once knew, begging for his brother to be brought back to life. “And yeah, hookers in Monte Carlo sounds great, but your family needs you.”

Hookers. They weren’t hookers, though, Gabriel thought. They were porn stars, weren’t they? Suddenly a memory swam into his mind, of a porn star and a video and a message he’d left behind. The reason he’d died, or at least faked it, in the first place. The apocalypse. Michael and Lucifer, vying for the perfect vessel so they could duke it out over an old feud. Michael’s vessel had been a stubborn ass of a man, but Lucifer’s.... Lucifer’s vessel had been a broken one. The one Gabriel had wanted so badly to fix. To save.

“Gabriel, _I need you._ ” Sam begged. 

\--

Sam stood for a long moment, waiting for any sign that Gabriel had heard him. Then when his tear ducts started to betray him and his eyes watered, he turned for the door. 

“Porn stars…”

Sam whirled around to face Gabriel. He was just starting to think he’d imagined it when Gabriel spoke again. “They were porn stars, Sam.”

“Gabriel,” Sam choked, several emotions coursing through him at once. Gabriel’s eyes glowed angel blue for just a second, and Sam shoved a hand into his pocket. “Your grace,” he said, holding out the vial. 

“Hmm, I think I prefer ‘Your Highness’,” Gabriel said, smirking as well as he was able to with so many cuts on his face. 

They waited for Castiel to join them, then Gabriel pulled the cap off the vial and took a deep breath, sucking in the wisp of blue energy. His eyes lit up again, more noticeably this time, then faded back to their natural honey color. 

“Is it helping?” Castiel asked. Sam wondered as well. He’d been half expecting Gabriel’s wounds to heal over right away, but aside from a bit more color in his cheeks, not much had changed.

“I don’t know,” Gabriel admitted.

Sam’s phone rang. It was hardly the time to take a phone call, but in their line of business, a phone call could mean a life, so he answered. “Hello?”

“Samuel,” a southern voice greeted. If Sam had any question about who was on the line, it was answered by the terror that filled Gabriel’s eyes. He tensed and started to crawl backwards, away from Sam and the phone in his hand. “I hope you’re having a pleasant day,” the voice drawled, and Sam met Gabriel’s eyes. “It has come to my attention that you have something of mine, and I want it back.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sam lied, knowing it wouldn’t do much. 

“Oh, you know exactly what I’m talking about.”

Gabriel was as white as the sheets he sat on, and it suddenly struck Sam that Asmodeus’ voice might undo all of the progress he’d made in bringing Gabriel back to reality. “I’m hanging up,” he said.  
“Do not hang up!” Asmodeus growled through the phone. Sam covered the speaker with his hand and started to leave the room as the Prince of Hell made threats and demands. “You have ten minutes,” he snarled. “Now you can hang up.”

The line went dead. Castiel placed a hand on Gabriel’s shoulder reassuringly, and Sam stuffed the phone in his pocket. He stepped forward, and when Gabriel refused to look up, Sam reached out to touch his other shoulder. “I will not let him touch you, Gabriel,” Sam promised. “He’s never going to hurt you again.”

With Castiel standing guard, Sam hurried down the hallway, painting additional wards every few strides. There wasn’t much he could do in ten minutes, but anything to hold off Asmodeus would help. He grabbed the archangel blade and the demon blade, tossing the first into his own bedroom to keep it out of the fight, and bringing the second with him back to Gabriel. He was barely in the room a minute when the lights started to flicker and Gabriel, rubbing his temples, started to moan and rock back and forth. 

More by reflex than intention, Sam strode over to the bed and pulled Gabriel closer to the edge, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. “Stay here,” he said, squeezing the terrified archangel. “We’ll be back.”

\--

Gabriel had hardly been alone for a minute before he hurt the grunts and screams of combat from outside of his room. Then there were demons on either side of him, their grips bruising his arms as they pulled him off the bed and dragged him into the hall. He could feel his mind slipping away again, behind the walls and away from reality, but he fought to stay coherent. 

“Oh, I missed you, boy,” Asmodeus purred when the demons dragged him up to the Prince. “I’ma have to punish you rather severely, I’m afraid.” 

Gabriel’s chest clenched and his vision swam. He whimpered and gave a weak struggle, but terror made his limbs feel like jello. His mind slipped again and he was halfway up a flight of stairs. Somewhere below, Sam Winchester groaned in pain. 

_“You have to dig yourself out of this hole. I need you, Gabriel.”_

The little wisp of grace coiled in Gabriel’s chest. Sam needed him. He fought past the fog in his mind and focused on the little power he had, urging it to grow. Using every ounce of concentration he could muster, he let the ball of grace unravel, shouting as his eyes lit in a flash of blue. The two demons leapt away from him, and the force of his grace pushed one over the railing. 

“Gabriel!” Asmodeus growled. “What are you doin’, son?”

Sam groaned in pain. Castiel clutched his chest. Anger flooded through Gabriel, stronger than the fear that had paralyzed him moments ago. “You know all too well what I can do to you,” Asmodeus yelled up to him, temporarily forgetting Sam and Castiel. “I broke you!” he snarled. The sizzle of grace turned into a roaring flame at his words. Gabriel could feel the power as it surged through his body. “You’re too weak!” Asmodeus dared to say.

The last vestiges of fear left Gabriel’s mind, and he raised his tattered, damaged wings in a show of power. “Not anymore,” he said. 

Finally, after so many years, Gabriel had the pleasure of seeing fear on the face of his captor. Asmodeus took a step back, then hurled a ball of crackling energy into the air. Gabriel batted it away like a fly. “Oh and by the way,” he said, feeling the dozens of wounds on his body start to fade away, “I always hated that dumbass suit.” 

He might have gone for something a little more destructive in his anger, but with Sam and Castiel so close to his target, he had to be more careful. So he took a spark of grace and lit Asmodeus aflame, then poured all of his fear and rage and sorrow into it. He pushed every last bit of hatred and every awful memory into the fire, until Asmodeus was swallowed completely and his howls of pain were only echoes on the bunker’s walls. 

Sam’s eyes were a mix of admiration, fear, and something else, but Gabriel couldn’t pinpoint it. He wanted to tell Sam that he didn’t need to be afraid, but all that left his lips was short wheeze, and then he was crumpling to the ground.

**Author's Note:**

> Shall I go on?


End file.
